


all the king's horses

by thisissirius



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Aftermath, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: “Robert,” Chas says, her eyes red. She’s holding onto Jason so tightly her knuckles are white. Mascara stains her cheeks, breath coming in short gasps and Robert knows, heknows.“Don’t,” he warns, scared. “Chas, don’t.”because if i lost you, aaron, i couldn't handle it





	

**Author's Note:**

> sorry. 
> 
> i'm not happy with this at all but what can you do. everyone is ooc. i'm so tired of trying to make this work.
> 
> sorry again.
> 
> (don't listen to this playlist when you read: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPc9wpkaHO6J_dGkX3rI1Rq_wvarrtRaS)

“There was an accident,” Jason starts.

“ _No_ ,” Robert repeats. “No, shut up.”

 

 

Aaron’s hoodie is hanging half out of the wash basket. There’s a burn mark on the sleeve from when he’d tried (unsuccessfully) to cook for Robert’s birthday just the past month, and Robert grits his teeth against the urge to cry. 

He yanks it out of the wash basket, doesn’t care that it’s dirty. 

It smells like Aaron, enough so that he buries himself in it, shrugs into the sleeves and curls up on Aaron’s side of their bed. The pillow is still dented, a hint of Aaron’s cologne and sweat. It should be disgusting, but Robert presses his forehead to the cotton, closes his eyes and breathes. 

( _I love ya_ , Aaron says, pressing a kiss to Robert’s lips. 

“Love you too,” Robert promises, and ducks out of the door, in a hurry.)

In a hurry, like anything is more important than Aaron. _Was_ more important. 

Robert feels sick, buries his face in the fabric of Aaron’s hoodie, and fights back the tears. 

 

 

“Robert,” Chas says, her eyes red. She’s holding onto Jason so tightly her knuckles are white. Mascara stains her cheeks, breath coming in short gasps and Robert knows, he _knows_.

“Don’t,” he warns, scared. “Chas, don’t.”

 

 

 

The door to their – _his_ – room opens and Robert recognises Victoria’s shoes, the softness of her footsteps as she crosses to the bed. 

“Aaron’s dead,” Robert says, the words ripped from his throat, sounding like a stranger. “He’s not coming back.”

Vic’s eyes are red, her face blotchy from crying, and Robert feels worse. “I know.”

Robert feels the bed dip as she sits down, on his side, Robert notes. She rests a hand on his back, fingers splayed against his spine. He closes his eyes, can’t stand to have them open anymore. 

“I’m so sorry,” Vic says. She curls up behind him, limbs wrapping around him like Aaron used to, but Robert allows it. It hurts, a phantom pain settling beneath his ribs. Robert wants to scream and cry until his throat is hoarse, wants to tear the room apart with his bare hands. He wants so many things; Aaron, mostly, always Aaron 

“I don’t know,” he starts, doesn’t know how to finish. His eyes burn with tears, and he makes a noise he can’t even begin to describe. 

Vic squeezes him tightly, buries her face in the back of his neck and he can feel the wetness of her tears, hear the sobs she can’t contain. 

The urge to protect her, to make it better, is overshadowed by the huge black mass of grief currently settling in his chest. 

 

 

“He’s gone,” Chas says, letting go of Jason and coming towards him. “Robert, I’m sorry-“

Robert turns on his heel, leaves the room.

 

 

 

Robert plants his hands on the shower wall, either side of the soap dish, and bows his head. The scalding water cascades down over his back, steam billowing up in front of his eyes, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the water swirling down the drain.

Robert’s chest feels tight, empty, his eyes raw. The roar of the water isn’t enough to drown out the music blaring next door – Liv’s room – or the crying. Robert’s mouth twists and he clenches his hands into fists. Fury curls in his stomach, blinding hot in intensity. There’s nowhere to go with it, nobody to take it out on, but that’s not enough for Robert to deflate. He lets the anger twist, rough and hard, and when someone bangs on the door, Chas’ voice saying, “Rob, love,” Robert has to clamp his mouth shut to keep from sniping. He turns his head, blinking furiously as water pools on his lashes, stings his eyes with heat. 

“What?” Despite the anger still thumping in his breast, Robert’s voice comes out shaky, wrecked. 

There’s a pause. “You’ve been in there an hour. I think you should come out.”

Robert almost wants to refuse, wants to sit in the tub and never leave, but there’s the inevitable day to face, a world of questions and gnawing guilt. Shutting off the shower, Robert’s momentarily started by the silence in the bathroom, almost deafening, but he hears Chas move further down the hall, towards Liv and the music currently thumping out a base, and Robert reaches blindly for a towel.

Unable to avoid the mirror, Robert looks at his reflection. His eyes are red, swollen, and his face is pale. Dull, he thinks, lip curling into a sick approximation of a smile. His hands clutch at the basin, head dropping low between his shoulders. The sink needs cleaning, a smudge of toothpaste against the tap. Robert rubs at it with his thumb, drawing his eyes back up to the mirror, and stalls when he sees the toothbrush holder on the shelf. 

There’s a blue toothbrush shoved haphazardly amongst the others, toothpaste dried on the side. Robert touches it gently, hand shaking, and his throat feels raw. 

Eyes burning, Robert sinks to his knees in front of the basin, and wants to cry. He feels sick, presses his back to the wall and rests his forehead on his knees, arms curling around his legs 

The door opens and there’s a soft sigh. Robert’s cheeks burn with shame, embarrassment, but he recognises Chas’ soft, “Oh, Rob,” as she sits down next to him. He almost doesn’t want her to touch him, but she rests a hand on his shoulder and pulls him to her. 

Robert lets the tears fall, chokes back to the urge to say something. 

“I know, love, I know.” Chas presses a kiss to the top of his head and it makes him feel infinitely worse; he’s never felt worthy of anything Chas bestows upon him, and especially not now, but he craves it, wants it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, when he can’t cry anymore. “I saw his toothbrush and I –“

Chas swallows, brushes a hand through his hair. “It’s hard, I know it is.”

Robert pulls back, takes a moment to look at her. Her eyes have dark smudges between them, red where she’s obviously been crying, and she doesn’t have makeup on. She looks tired, broken, and Robert feels selfish. “I’m sorry, it’s not like this is easy for you.”

“No,” Chas agrees, and Robert watches her face crumple, minutely, quickly, before she swipes a hand over her eyes. He wonders why she’s so strong; when she found out about Gordon, she broke. Now she seems so much stronger. “We just have to – we have to keep going.”

It’s easier said than done, Robert thinks, but grips her hand tightly anyway. “We will.”

He means for it to sound confident but it doesn’t seem to matter. Whether they believe it, both he and Chas know that it’s not going to be easy, not at all. 

“I miss him,” Robert admits, softly. “I miss him so much.”

Chas doesn’t say anything, not for a long time. When she does, she squeezes Robert’s shoulder. “He’d be ashamed of us, yeah? Sitting on the floor while there’s stuff to be done.”

Robert laughs, doesn’t feel happy, but leans more heavily against Chas. Her grip on his fingers is tight, but Robert doesn’t mind. HE doesn’t know how long they sit there, how long they listen to Liv’s music, but it’s the first time he hasn’t wanted to punch something since he found out. 

 

 

 

There’s breakfast on the table when Robert eventually goes downstairs. Chas has done eggs and bacon, but the smell makes Robert feel sick, bile rising in his throat. He heads for his chair, refuses to look anywhere else in the room. 

A familiar bump on the stairs has Robert turning to look over his shoulder out of instinct, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Morning, you’re-”

It’s Liv, her face blotchy, uniform untucked. Robert’s heart stutters, starts again, and he sags in his seat. 

“You don’t have to go in today,” Robert says, because Liv’s expression is dark, pained; she knows where his mind went. “If you don’t want.”

Liv hovers in the doorway, staring at her stocked feet. Robert watches her toes curl and unfurl. She bites at her bottom lip, so very much her brother, and Robert feels sick for a whole new reason. “Are you working?”

Robert winces at how raw her voice sounds. He’s ashamed with how little he’s focused on her, could barely content with his own grief, but he thinks Aaron would be angry. He shakes his head, the very thought of having to face anyone, let alone Nicola, too much. “Wanna stay home with me?”

Liv immediately nods, pulling off her school jumper. Robert doesn’t say anything as she throws it onto the sofa, but his eyes slide right back to the plate of food. 

“You should eat something,” he says, patting Liv’s usual chair, gesturing at the food.

“Not hungry.” Liv echoes Robert’s own feelings, but it’s Chas, who’s fraying enough as it is. 

“I know.” Robert grabs his fork, stares down at the food with no enthusiasm. 

Liv sits anyway, hands in her lap, scowling down at the plate. “Is it supposed to feel like this?”

Robert looks at her, afraid of what she’s asking. “Like what?”

“Angry? Like I want to punch someone.” Liv’s fists clench into fists, almost unconsciously. Then her face shifts into something devastating. “Then like there’s big hole inside.”

Placing his fork gently on the table, Robert takes a minute t slow his breathing. The urge to run is overwhelming. He doesn’t know what to tell her, what to say to make it better. He wishes fiercely, furiously, that Aaron was here. If he were, Robert wouldn’t need him in this moment, but he wants it anyway. 

Reaching over, Robert eases out one of Liv’s hands and tangles their fingers together. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Liv, I promise. I don’t know. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like, or whether or not it will get better.”

Liv’s bottom lip wobbles dangerously, and Robert’s heart clenches. He makes a decision in that moment knows with every fibre of his being, with every part of him that loved – loves – Aaron, that he’ll stick by it no matter what. 

“You and me, yeah? We’ll get through this. I promise.”

 

 

 

“Are you eating?” Diane asks, placing a hand on his cheek. 

Robert shrinks out of her grasp, takes his mug to the sink. It’s still half full with tea, but he tips it down the drain. “Yeah.”

It’s a lie; he can’t remember the last time he ate something without throwing it back up, the last time he drank something and actually tasted it. 

“Robert, you have to take care of yourself,” Diane starts, her expression equal parts sad and pitying.

Robert growls under his breath, clutches at the sink. “Why?”

Diane’s eyes are dark and angry when she speaks. “Because it’s what Aaron would want.”

Aaron’s name curls around Robert’s shoulders like a blanket, and he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “How would I know?” He says, voice soft. Then, louder, “How would I know what he wants anymore?”

Diane doesn’t answer.

 

 

 

They release Aaron’s body;

Robert doesn’t get up, hears Chas sigh as she shuts the door to his room. He feels the sickness of guilt, the urge to move and _do_ something. He hears the front door open then shut, hears Liv’s angry voice from downstairs, followed by Diane. 

The bed feels too big around him, having to occupy the space of two people. Aaron’s stuff is still spread around the room, a heavy reminder of what Robert’s missing, of the pressure constantly making his body ache.

There’s a stomping on the stairs, an, “I don’t care!” from Liv, and Diane’s answering shout that Robert can’t make out.

“Why doesn’t he just _get up_!” Liv screams, outside the door. She doesn’t open it, doesn’t shout in Robert’s face like he knows she wants to. “He isn’t the only one that lost Aaron!”

The words cut, rip through Robert’s duvet like it’s made of dust, and he fists his hair, swallows the urge to scream back, to yell until he can’t anymore that she doesn’t know, she can’t possibly understand. 

She _can’t _.__

__

__

__

__When Robert makes it downstairs that night, the light in Liv’s room already off, the pub deathly silent, he jumps when he sees Chas sitting in the dark._ _

__“You’re up then,” she says, her tone hard._ _

__Robert doesn’t reply, pads across the room and hesitates. When Chas looks up at him, something in him breaks. He sits on the edge of the coffee table, shivering in just his boxers. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__Chas’ expression doesn’t waver from hard and angry._ _

__“I know it’s selfish, that I can’t – that it’s not fair, but I can’t make it stop.” The words feel like they’re being pulled out of him, reminds him of confessing secrets to Aaron. He swallows._ _

__“I miss him too,” Chas tells him, eyes hard. “I lost my little boy.”_ _

__“I lost my husband,” Robert snaps. “I loved him, Chas, more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”_ _

__“I know, Robert.” Something in Chas’ voice softens. “I know, but you’re not the only one. Everyone in this house loved Aaron.”_ _

__Robert’s eyes slide past Chas’ face, to the open doorway behind her. His legs twitch, but he forces himself to stay. “Then tell me how to deal with this, tell me how to make it stop.”_ _

__Chas leans forward, takes his hands in hers. “I can’t. You can’t. You don’t make it _stop_ , Robert. You learn to live with it.”_ _

___What if I can’t?_ He can’t ask, can’t make his mouth say the words. He can’t remember a day he wasn’t with Aaron, he didn’t have Aaron there waiting, or just miles way. Can’t remember the last time they didn’t speak. _ _

__“I’m sorry,” he says again, like it’s the only thing he has left._ _

__“I know, love,” Chas says, pulling him in and kissing his forehead. It feels like too much, like he wants to stay in this moment forever._ _

__

__

__

__“I can’t do this,” Robert says, sitting on the edge of his bed._ _

__“You can and you will,” Vic tells him, smoothing out his tie._ _

__Robert’s been dressing himself for thirty years, but this morning it felt like too much effort, like everything took a minute too long._ _

__Vic presses a hand to his cheek. He lets her, barely keeps from pressing into it. “You’ll be strong, and you’ll say what needs to be said. I know you, Rob.”_ _

__“Not anymore,” Robert says, curling his hands into fists against his knees. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”_ _

__“You’re my brother,” Vic almost pleads, raising his chin. “You were that before Aaron, with Aaron, and you’re _still_ that.”_ _

__Robert doesn’t think he knows how to be anything anymore, but he nods, sees the small, sad smile that flits across Vic’s face. He holds onto that right up until he sees the coffin, knows that’s _Aaron_ inside. _ _

__“I can’t do this,” he says again, breathing hard._ _

__(In a perfect world, he’d ditch, take Liv back to the house and he’d get drunk while they remembered Aaron in their own way. He’s not that person anymore, can’t be that person anymore. Aaron deserves more than that.)_ _

__In this world, he shoulders the coffin of his (dead) husband and walks into the church._ _

__In this world, he stands awkwardly in front of one of the pews, hands shaking by his sides._ _

__In this world, he stands beside his mother-in-law and tries to remember why he’s doing this._ _

___For Aaron._ _ _

__

__

__

__“I can’t do this,” Robert says, staring down at the paper in front of him. The church is eerily silent, everyone looking at him, waiting. Liv’s in the front row, looking small and out of place in her black dress. It’s so foreign, so strange, and Robert hates it. She shouldn’t be here, _he_ shouldn’t be here. His mouth twists. “I can stand in a court room full of people and tell them I wanted to be with Aaron, but that being here, telling people who knew him, who loved him, that I can’t stand to be here without him, is too hard.”_ _

__“So tell me,” Chas says, appearing at his elbow. She takes his chin in her hand and turns it towards her. She’s crying, he realises belatedly, of course she is, but she looks fierce and determined underneath it all. Robert doesn’t know where she finds her strength, how she keeps going when all he wants to do is curl up and die. “Tell _me_.”_ _

__“I loved him, Chas,” Robert says, voice wrecked. He wants to cry, wants to fall and never get back up again. “He saw me, the real me, not the me I pretend to be when things get tough. He wanted me, chose me. Even after everything – after what I did, he still wanted me, married me.”_ _

__Chas nods, encouraging, and Robert’s gripping the lectern so tightly he thinks it might break under is fingers._ _

__“I just want him back,” Robert admits, dropping his chin to his chest. He thinks of Liv in the front row, Liv who deserves so much better than him. “I wanna move into the Mill, I wanna get a dog and fight with Liv over going to college. I wanna grow old with him, wake up to him every day of my life and that’s gone, it’s all gone and I can’t do anything about it.” The tears burn, his throat feels thick. “I’ll never love anyone like I loved - _love_ Aaron. How am I supposed to go to work? How am I supposed to eat and drive and pretend to be happy when there’s this huge _pit_ inside of me that Aaron’ll never fill again?”_ _

__Chas fights back her own tears, wraps Robert up into a hug. He drops his head forward, doesn’t cry, not anymore, but shakes in her hold. “It’s okay, love, it’s okay.”_ _

__“It’s not,” Robert whispers, fingers clenching as tightly to Chas’ jacket as he did to the lectern._ _

__When they step down, when Robert feels everyone’s eyes on him; Dingles, villagers, family, he pretends he’s fine, pretends he’s standing tall when his spine wilts, when his courage stutters and fails._ _

__(“I’m proud of you,” Aaron says, James’ funeral behind them. “You know that, right?”_ _

__“’course,” Robert says, flippant, and leans in for a kiss.)_ _

__Robert almost believes he can feel it now, if he tries hard enough._ _

__

__

__

__

__“You’re executor of his will,” Chas tells him, reluctant._ _

__“No I’m not,” Robert says, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “You do it.”_ _

He knows she can’t, _knows_ she can’t, but doesn’t care. 

__Chas looks disapproving, but that’s nothing new, so Robert ignores it._ _

__“I’ll be back later,” he says, swiping his keys._ _

The letter from the lawyer is still on the table when he gets home. He stares at the letterhead, at Aaron’s name printed under _Dear Mr. Sugden_ and swipes it onto the floor. 

__He grabs a glass and a bottle of whisky from the cupboard and retreats upstairs._ _

__

__

__

__

__“Do I have to go back today?” Liv asks, pushing eggs around her plate._ _

__Robert gives up on pretending he’s going to eat his breakfast, and shoves his plate away. “Yes. The school’s been on at me. You can’t have anymore time off."_ _

__“But-” Liv starts._ _

__“That’s enough,” Chas says, clutching a mug at the sink. She’s still icy with Robert, the letter from the lawyer still hanging between them._ _

__“Rob, you said-” Liv says, mouthful of food._ _

__“Swallow before you talk, Liv,” he chastises._ _

“You’re not my dad,” Liv snaps, angry and nasty. It’s not the first time, but it gets to Robert anyway, the words a painful reminder that he’s not anyone to her, not really, not _now_. 

__Anger and shock war in his chest, and he pointedly ignores the look Chas is giving him. “I've gotta get to work.”_ _

__Neither of them try and stop him._ _

__

__

__

__(“I wanna be with you and Liv, like a proper little family.”)_ _

__

__

__

__Liv’s light is still on when he gets home that night._ _

__He knocks on the door, softly, half-hoping she won’t be awake._ _

__“What?”_ _

__When he pushes open the door, Robert hesitates before poking his head around. Liv’s sitting propped up in bed, duvet pulled up around her chest, hair messy. She looks stubborn, so much like Aaron that it hurts._ _

__“I’m sorry,” he says, standing awkwardly in the doorway. He cares about her, so much sometimes that he doesn’t know what to do with it. “I know I haven’t been that great lately.”_ _

__“No,” Liv agrees, but she doesn’t look angry. “You promised me, Rob.”_ _

__“I know.” Robert feels guilty, knows Aaron’d never forgive him for any of this. He steps into her room, hesitates at the foot of her bed. “I don’t know how to do this.”_ _

__It feels like a lot, admitting to her that he’s lost, that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, or how he’s supposed to do it._ _

__Liv brushes a hand over her face, jaw clenched. “I lost Aaron too.”_ _

__Robert shuffles closer, not sure if she wants him to sit with her, if she wants him to go. He feels awkward, unsure._ _

__“Sit down,” Liv snaps. “You’re being weird.”_ _

__Robert snorts; this, he can do. It still hurts, feels overwhelming without Aaron’s expectation and hope hovering over them. Perhaps, Robert thinks, maybe it’s still there. Maybe he can pretend it’s still there. “I know you miss him.”_ _

__Liv clutches at the duvet._ _

__“Hey,” Robert says, because this he can do. “Come here.”_ _

__She shuffles forward, lets him pull her into a hug. She clings tightly, and he hates himself for not doing this sooner, for being so wrapped up in his own grief that he couldn’t see hers._ _

__“I’m sorry, Liv,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her head. “I’m here now.”_ _

__“Good,” is all she says, face buried in his shoulder. She’s crying, her hair brushing Robert’s chin. He closes his eyes, holds her until she’s cried out, until she’s asleep in his arms. He holds her because right now, it’s the only thing keeping him together._ _

__

__

__

__Robert’s kept away from the Scrapyard, working from home when necessary, letting Nicola come to him when she’s needed something._ _

__Now it looms before him like an unassailable gorge. It’s Aaron’s livelihood, everything he worked to build, and Robert can’t make himself drive up there._ _

__He hears the familiar crash of metal, knows Adam’s at work, can’t ignore the myriad of messages Vic sends him. He doesn’t want to do this, wants to turn his car around and drive back home, but the only thing keeping him here, making him do this, is the letter in Aaron’s handwriting sitting on the front seat._ _

m(- _I want Adam to have my share of the-_ ) 

__Robert grabs the sheets of paper he needs and climbs out of the car._ _

__When he rounds the corner, when the familiar portacabin comes into view, he almost falters. They’ve had sex, made up, fought, done so much here, in this place, that it’s overwhelming and too much. Robert can’t do this, has to do this, makes himself do it._ _

__Adam’s in his familiar spot, looking too small for the scrapyard. He’s missing his shadow, missing _Aaron_._ _

__“What are you doing here?” Adam says._ _

__It’s not antagonistic, not really, but Robert doesn’t want to be here, wants to be doing this even less. “I have to give you this.”_ _

__Adam takes one look at the paper, doesn’t even move to hold it. “I don’t want it.”_ _

__“Yeah, well, I don’t want to do this either.” Robert keeps the paper between them, glares at Adam like that’s going to make a difference. “It’s what Aaron wanted.”_ _

__“I don’t care,” Adam snaps, swinging his hammer into the car behind him. Robert lets him fight, lets the hammer fall again, again, again, but doesn’t move. Adam’s shoulders stiffen, his back a hard line. “Get out of here, Robert.”_ _

__Robert doesn’t, gripping the paper so hard he thinks it might rip. “If you don’t take it, I’ll give it to Vic.”_ _

__“Do what you like,” Adam says, whirling around. “Do you know how hard-“_ _

__Adam cuts off, catching himself or seeing the look on Robert’s face, Robert doesn’t know._ _

__He doesn’t care._ _

__“You think I want to be doing this?” Robert’s voice rises into a shout, the tight rein he’s had on his control slipping. “Dividing up my husband's life and handing it out to people? Taking everything he had, everything he _was_ and giving it to people who aren’t me?”_ _

__It sounds selfish, feels it, but Robert doesn’t care. Aaron wasn’t only his, but he _was_._ _

__“He was your best friend,” Robert allows, can see his hand shaking. Adam’s eyes are dark, angry, but there’s a break in his expression. Guilt, Robert thinks, not that he’s bothering too hard to look. “But he was my husband, he was everything. Don’t tell _me_ how hard this is!”_ _

__There’s an uncomfortable silence, one neither of them is inclined to break._ _

__Adam looks sick, but he reaches for the paper. “There’s beers in the fridge over there,” he says, gesturing at the portacabin. “If I’m gonna do this, I need a drink.”_ _

__Robert doesn’t know if he’s offering._ _

__“Come on,” Adam says, wilting beneath the weight of this moment. “Maybe if we get drunk, this won’t feel like what it is.”_ _

__It doesn’t help; it still hurts to part with Aaron’s part of the scrapyard, not that it’s Robert’s to give. It hurts to lose yet something else, to have to lose so much of Aaron._ _

__Sitting with Adam, their backs to the portacabin door, cans of beer littering the floor between them, Robert feels something close to normal for the first time in days._ _

__Adam’s telling stories about Aaron, some that have them in stitches, others that feel like too much, that make Robert want to get back in his car and keep driving until he’s somewhere he doesn’t know the name of. Others make his grief vivid and overwhelming, so much so that Adam rests his head against the door, and makes a face at Robert._ _

__“He loved you, you know that?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Robert says, his voice tight. He snorts. “Think he might have loved you too.”_ _

__“Shut up,” Adam says, but there’s a gratefulness in his expression that Robert doesn’t know how to deal with._ _

__

__

__

__Aaron gives him the Mill._ _

__Aaron gives him everything that doesn’t have ties to someone else._ _

__Even now, Aaron gives to him._ _

__Even now, Robert feels unworthy, wants to give it all away._ _

__

__

__

__“I don’t deserve any of this,” Robert tells Vic, tracing the letters of Aaron’s name on the tombstone. He means everything in the will, the grief, losing Aaron._ _

__Maybe he never deserved Aaron at all._ _

__Vic rests her head on Robert’s shoulder, fingers wrapped around his upper arm. “He thought you did.”_ _

Aaron always looked at Robert and saw _more_ , saw things Robert didn’t know he was capable of, the good and the bad. Aaron looked, saw it, and loved him, _wanted him_ anyway. 

__

__

__

(- _Take care of Liv for me, Rob, yeah?_ -) 

__Sandra comes._ _

__“You can’t take her away from me,” Robert says, standing in the back room of the pub. He stands between Liv and Sandra, her _mother_ , like he has any right._ _

__Sandra’s mouth is a thin line. “I’m her mother.”_ _

__Robert wants to protect Liv, but he’s not her father, and Sandra’s here._ _

__“With Aaron dead,” Sandra says, easy like it doesn’t matter, like it’s nothing. “She needs to come home with me.”_ _

__“Sandra.” Chas sounds angry, looks formidable from her place next to Robert._ _

__Liv hasn’t said anything, Robert can feel her eyes on the back of his neck; he doesn’t know what she’s waiting for._ _

__“I married Aaron,” Robert says, feels the weight of the band on his finger. It matters, means something, even here. “I’m Liv’s guardian.”_ _

__“I’m her _mother_ ,” Sandra says again. _ _

Robert wants to say more, wants to beg and plead and make her _see_. “Sandra, please, I can take care of her.” 

__There’s silence in the room, the ticking of the clock, the chatter of punters in the pub the only noise._ _

__“Mum,” Liv says, eventually. “I wanna stay.”_ _

__

__

__

__“He can take care of me,” Liv says. “I can take care of him.”_ _

__Robert’s afraid Sandra won’t agree, that she’ll take Liv back to Ireland and he’ll never see her again._ _

“Tell me you want _her_ and not just because she’s your last connection to Aaron.” 

“I love her,” Robert says, feels the truth of it as he does so. “Yes, I love the parts of her that are _Aaron_ , but I love the parts that aren’t.” 

Liv looks at him, shocked and pleased and the shadows on her face that have been there since – since _then_ seem to lift, just for a beat. 

__“I haven’t been the best,” Robert admits, pushes down the guilt. His promise to Aaron to be honest, to stop lying, doesn’t end just because Aaron’s not here anymore. “I can’t lose her too.”_ _

__“I’ve just got used to him,” Liv says, her voice small but no less forceful. “Please, mum.” Finally, looking at Robert with determination, she says, “I love ‘im.”_ _

__Robert’s proud of her, thinks Aaron would be too. That thought doesn’t hurt as much as it might have before, hurts even less when Sandra agrees, when Liv hugs Robert, long and hard, when Chas touches his cheek, tells him she’s proud of him._ _

__

__

__

__They move into the Mill because they need something new, need to know they can do this on their own. Robert tries not to focus on how sad Chas is; she has Jason still, has Cain and Charity and the rest of the Dingles. He and Liv, they have each other._ _

__The TV is on low in the background, the two of them pressed together on the sofa. Liv’s asleep, her breathing a steady rhythm against Robert’s neck. He brushes a hand through her hair, kisses the top of her head._ _

__There’s still a huge hole in the house, only one Aaron can fill, but it doesn’t feel as daunting to live with that anymore. He’s everywhere; his things around the house, some of his clothes in Robert’s closet, the influence he had on them obvious even now._ _

__Robert still feels the crushing weight of grief every day. He still wakes up expecting Aaron to be there, still cries sometimes when Liv’s gone to bed and there’s just emptiness. He still misses Aaron with every fibre of his body._ _

But he has Liv; he has the Mill, he has an extended family of Dingles who won’t let him _be_. He has Adam and Vic, and he has Aaron, still has Aaron. 

__Sometimes, if he tries hard enough, he can almost imagine him sitting in the chair opposite, eyes soft as he looks at them, happy that they’re getting on, finally._ _

__(Robert hates that this is what it takes.)_ _


End file.
